I’ve been a mother for 50 years. Yet I rarely read or hear anything truly honest about motherhood. Motherhood itself, not the Hallmark version. The real day-to-day slog. The unending, unpaid, under appreciated work that women do to feed, clothe, nurture, bathe, change...
"What's this, Mimi?" My granddaughter Francesca pointed at a glass vase of shells on my desk. "That's my shell collection," I said. Her blonde curls bounced as she nodded her head, "Oh," she said, "Can I play with them?" "If you're careful. Some are very fragile, they...
Some people have lucky numbers. Others, unlucky ones. I have a sacred number: 11:11 in the morning, the hour and minute of my daughter Maya's birth. When 11:11 popped up on my iPhone screen this morning, I thought, "Aha, beloved girl. There you are, waking me up...
Today is Maya’s 43rd birthday. I was 43 years old when Maya died, and she was 19. So this year, a mysterious circle is forming. There are so many “I wonders” inside the circle of synchronicity, so many “What ifs?” What if Maya had lived to be middle aged? Who would...
Today, sitting outside at a cafe on Grand Avenue, I met a two-month old baby, Stella, her mother, and her grandmother. We chatted under the shade of a tree, while Stella followed her grandmother's words with her blue gray eyes, alert to every syllable. I couldn't...
“What are those cracks by your eyes, Mimi?” My four-year-old granddaughter was staring intently at my face. It took me a minute to compute. “Wrinkles,” I said. “Do I have wrinkles?” Lucia touched her own cheeks. “No honey, you’re too young for wrinkles,” I...
"As you approach the holidays, remember: grief is both a necessity and a privilege. It comes as a result of giving and receiving love. Don’t let anyone take your grief away. Love yourself. Be patient with yourself. And allow yourself to be surrounded by loving,...
When I look back on my 25 years of single parenthood, I shake my head in wonder. I pulled on my pantyhose every day (this was in the 1980s and 90s) and went to a corporate job. I made breakfasts and lunches, drove kids to school, helped with homework, scheduled and...
My daughter’s friends called her “Barbie” because of her platinum blond hair. Maya was lean and willowy, with deep brown eyes and a winning smile. But she was no dumb blonde. She appeared in her first play at the age of nine, portraying one of the “no neck monsters”...
For months, I’ve stared at the grainy ultrasound on my daughter’s refrigerator. But on July 30, that black and gray image came into focus. Francesca Blanche Coleman arrived, all 8 lbs., 1 oz. of her. The moment I held her in my arms – little pointed chin, rosebud...